


Those feelings that you don't wanna fight

by Bananas45



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Carl Grimes, Canon Compliant, Complex relationships, Fear Play, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, Knifeplay, Love/Hate, M/M, Mind Games, Pretentious, Touch-Starved, Trust Issues, Trust Kink, kind off?, sort off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:54:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24614860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bananas45/pseuds/Bananas45
Summary: He’s shaking. This close he can smell Negan, sweat and leather and wire and wood, intoxicating and heavy and all consuming. He’s here and real, fallible and human, not the god that destroyed the image of his Father in front of his eyes or the myth whispered amongst scared scavengers.After everything he’s been through, how can this be his downfall? After losing his Dad, then the world, then his Mom too, his sight. How can one man, one man and his stupid goddamn smirk make him feel so weak.Negan comes round for dinner again.
Relationships: Carl Grimes/Negan
Comments: 15
Kudos: 142





	Those feelings that you don't wanna fight

**Author's Note:**

> I finally got round to the watching the walking dead considering I had months of Time on my hands. it's been a thing that plague me because I have a crippling fear of zombies but I used this as kind of exposure therapy and I think it worked. 
> 
> This is such a mess. I just needed to get my thoughts about these two out there because I loved them so much. I don't know whatI I'm doing. 
> 
> Enjoy.

He likes to think he hates Negan. 

Negan’s presence is heavy, overwhelming. Neither positive or negative, Carl realises. Just omnipresent. Thoughts of what he would think or do, licking at the corners of his mind before he’s fully aware that's who he’s even thinking about. 

His Father feels differently, he knows that. To his Dad, Negan is worse than any number of the undead put together. To his Dad, Negan destroys more effortlessly, hurts more freely, takes more selfishly. 

His Dad has encountered men like Negan his whole life. Thrown them in the county jail three times a  _ day  _ and is now forced to kowtow _. _ Frustration, fear, self-loathing, that’s all Negan will ever be to Rick Grimes. 

And if you asked Carl, he’d answer the way his daddy would. He’d scrunch his nose and spit out something about pure hatred even if deep down, lying in bed or cradling Judith as he stares out at the facsimile of normal and the corrugated metal that gives it all away. Carl finds himself thinking otherwise. 

He doesn’t  _ like  _ Negan. In fact, he doesn’t even respect him but to say what he felt was only fear or anger, hate? That would be a lie. Categorising the emotion exactly feels too exhausting. 

The walkers have always been Carl’s main concern. They’ve taken or turned everyone who’s ever meant anything to him. They were the monsters under the bed that crawled out and took over the whole damn world and he’ll never get over the primal fear they set in his bones. Men are men and that’s all Negan is. He won’t sink his teeth into Carl’s arm, won’t drool and growl. The presence he gives off is all-consuming but not as despairing as what Carl is used to. 

It’s warm, like Carl’s breath can’t fully escape his lungs when he’s close, like his eyes feel heavy. Makes the will to fight seep out of him in a way that’s more concerning than the feeling itself. He makes it easy to give in. He makes you  _ want _ to give in through a perfect cocktail of atrocity and kindness. It’s deadly, Carl realises and he’s getting it the full brunt of it. Between having dinner cooked and being made to watch a man have his face ironed off. Between watching his Father humiliated and then encouraged, told words that made his spine tingle. Words he’d wanted to hear and no-one had the insight to tell him at home. Murmured by the one man he wishes wouldn’t. It’s pavlovian. 

Sharpening his knife crossed legged on the sofa, watching the baby monitor, he gnaws through his lip going it over and over it. What he should have done differently, what he could have said, what he should have tried. He can’t get his eyes out his head, the way they tracked him. How easily he read people, darkest wishes, deepest desires, the words that could tip you over the edge. 

The words you want to hear. 

Whether it was real or not, Carl had no clue. 

“Knock knock” 

He whirls around, grip tight on the edge of the sofa, heart in his throat. 

Negan leans against the door frame, that god-forsaken bat leaning against his foot, twirled on his open palm. 

And on top of it all apparently he’s fucking all powerful too. Carl, for a second, wonders if he’s finally snapped, hallucinating the thing at the forefront of his mind. 

“How’d you get in?” His voice cracks just a little. The words are unnatural. The ease of them, more so. 

“ _ You  _ left your goddamn door unlocked. I mean, really kid. You’re getting too cosy in suburbia” 

A heavy pause. Carl stares, imagining the blood spattered remnants of friends, of the gunshot so close to him and Judith as Olivia falls to the ground beside them, snuffed out like a candle on the whim of Negan’s  _ henchman _ , juxtaposed so harshly against the softness of Negan’s tone when they spent their day together.

His willingness to forgive the fact that Carl almost killed him. 

_ He didn’t do that for the others.  _

It makes him feel special, wanted and desired above others and fuck, it’s probably supposed to. 

He shakes his head, clearing the thoughts. He has to focus. 

“Get out. My dad’s not home” He snaps, even if a part of him wants Negan to stay. Every moment they’re together Carl can at least be sure that other people are safe. That Negan is at least with him and not torturing some innocent. 

(He worries that’s an excuse, worries that instead he’s come to crave the fear and anticipation Negan kindles in him. The desire instead of cold and clawing despair. Negan makes him feel in control of his terror. Makes his opposition clear cut. Not desperate what ifs and plans for  _ inevitable  _ downfall)

Negan’s brows shoot up and his jaw drops in mock offense. 

“Ouch, Carl” He swings lucille once and runs his tongue over his teeth in delight as Carl flinches. “I’m not here for daddy dearest. I had a bit of RnR and remembered the  _ beautiful _ evening I spent here. Shooting pool ‘n whiskey, undermining your Father’s authority, almost getting shot. Hell, it’s  _ basically  _ the plot to a country song” 

His smile is wolfish, full bodied and unnaturally pearly. 

Carl rolls his eye, grip tight on the knife as Negan takes him in, tongue resting on an incisor. Gaze raking top to toe, Carl has to suppress a shudder, heart stuttering in his chest. 

The leather jacket creaks softly as Negan throws Lucille over his shoulder and suddenly the room feels much too quiet and much too small. 

“You cooked me a fine dinner, Carl” 

The smile drops just a little, the smallest indicator that there isn’t a negotiation to be had here and Carl  _ hates _ that Negan has him whipped enough to notice that. You have to be able to notice the slightest changes though. Carl remembers learning that prey do that, understanding the simplest movements in predators in order to stay alive. 

Staying alive he surely is. 

“I’ve got fresh veg for us both” He singsongs. “Exciting, I know”

The fact Negan brought him that takes whatever they had from something purely fear based to something else. Something much more dangerous. He’s being solicited, given privileges and shown favouritism, as though Negan doesn’t just want his terror, his forced respect but his friendship too. 

_ He’s just doing it to piss off Dad  _ Carl reasons. 

“Jesus kid, don’t look so fucking excited” 

“What do you want?” Carl hates how the exhaustion seeps into his tone, shows how clearly the mind games are wearing him thin. 

Negan looks bemused, chuffing his head back as he places Lucille on the counter, careful to keep an eye on Carl. 

“Do I need to fucking spell it out for you? I wanna cook you dinner” 

Carl moves round, grip tight on the blade in his hand and Negan snaps a finger, smile and amusement dropping from eyes like it was never there. He steps closer and Carl’s heels rock a little at the desire to step back. He stands his ground, neck tilted. Negan watches his Adam’s apple bob before his eyes find Carl’s again. 

“Hand me that knife, Pop eye” 

Carl’s shoulders set, ignoring how hard the words hit. He takes an inhale through his nose and gently lays the blade on Negan’s open palm. Moments seem to pass, Negan’s calloused tan fingers curling around the blade and brushing against Carl’s, thin and long, soft and pale. He hauls it back, unable to feel anything other than resentment and weakness. 

“Good boy” Negan smiles, leaning closer only to place the knife beside Lucille. 

Carl watches as Negan sheds his jacket, throwing it over a chair as he heads to their kitchen. Carl follows, wary, as though this isn’t his house. 

“I didn’t hear your men” 

Negan raids his cupboards like he’s sacking the place, with a savagery that makes Carl remember there must have been a time where Negan was fighting for survival the way Carl was. Before they had Alexandria or Sanctuary, before anything was anything. It makes his skin crawl with misplaced empathy. 

“I…” Negan trails off as he searches, puffing his cheeks at how empty the shelves are. “Came alone” 

Carl blinks, fingers twitching at his side against the gun that isn’t there. Negan grins softly. 

“Don’t get any smart ideas. Or do” He takes a pause and then shrugs. “I like watching that  _ scheming _ little face of yours” 

Carl bites his tongue, eyes tracking the way the ink on Negan’s bicep twists and moves with skin, distorting the images. His mouth feels inexplicably dry. 

“You’re tired, I get it. It’s been a trying time. I’m very aware” Negan sighs. “I’ll stop fucking you around” 

  
He pulls a mix-matched selection of vegetables from various pockets and throws them Carl’s way. 

“Cut these for me”

  
  


The knife feels otherworldly in his hand. As though his whole arm doesn’t belong to him. A strange sense of farawayness overtakes him. The dim, domestic light of the kitchen, the setting sun, the slip away to the sound of his own heartbeat. Negan is humming something, so close their shoulders almost brush. 

His mind races, races like it’s never had to in his whole life. This isn’t survival and he realises, with a stomach drop that makes the carrots in front of him suddenly look unappealing, he doesn’t know how to do anything else. 

Guilt slices through him whenever the simple option to just  _ give in _ , pops into his head. The idea of beginning a conversation with Negan, one that doesn’t have the backdrop of the scenes of horror he’s witnessed the man curate, feels more daunting then fighting off hordes of the undead. 

The knife gets stuck and Negan’s gaze looks once at the carrot and then to him, smirk downturned and unreadable.

“You need a hand?” 

“I-” Carl begins, flushed as he pulls it out only to find his hands bracketed by Negan’s. Warm and calloused and hard not to stare at. 

Negan’s back presses against his, breath unintentionally tickling the hairs at the back of his neck. He fights against flinching. 

“Kid, this is embarrassing” 

Carl lets his eye flutter shut at the tone, humoured and rich, safe in the knowledge Negan can’t see him do it. 

“Here, see-” Negan takes his wrist, drawing the pads of his fingers along the line of tendons on the back of Carl’s hand and gently curling his fingers, lifting them once and dropping them back with a chuff of laughter before plucking the knife out Carl’s other hand with an ease that makes his skin tingle. 

“You’ll cut your fingers off fuckin’ around like that” Negan’s tone drips with condensation, intentional and inflammatory. Carl shakes his head softly, physically restraining some kind of reaction. 

“But now, look-” Negan lifts the knife, keeping Carl’s hand in place with his other grip, dragging it down across his knuckles. “Can’t hurt you-” He repeats the motion, voice low and hypnotic in Carl’s ear. Whether he notices how Carl trembles, how still he’s gone, how his eye has fallen shut, how hard his heart hammers with salacious fear, it’s hard to tell. The blade is cold, in pointed juxtaposition to the heat of Negan’s skin, just caressing the backs of his fingers. 

And then he pulls back, further and with more intention, grip tight on Carl’s wrist and slices directly through the carrot, breezing past Carl’s fingers. Cutting the tension, whatever spell he’d cast, with calculated force. 

The blade hits the chopping board, ear splitting, as the knife imbeds in the wood. Carl hauls his fingers back, cradling them to his chest as he turns to Negan, who stares back with ersatz innocence. Carl’s breath punctuates the silence before Negan tilts his head, tongue licking his incisor. 

“Didn’t your  _ Daddy  _ ever teach you this?” 

Carl startles, gasp wrenched from his throat at the shock of it. The fright rattles through him like a poison. He turns, sharp and ready to rebuke but voice stolen by their proximity. The lazy, knowing smirk on Negan’s face, dying light catching his dark eyes, Carl watches the pupils constrict and finds his breath stuttering. Negan’s gaze feels like the point of the knife across his cheek, down his chin, settling on his throat to watch it work to swallow. 

And then he steps back as though nothing happened, smiling gently and motioning back to food. 

  
  
  


The game they are playing is dangerous, Carl knows it. Negan provokes him to react, harsher and with more abandon then his Father and enjoys the chaos that ensues. In return Carl responds to less, avoids Negan more and remembers the pain and the fear rather than the good food and offers of safety. 

Because in the end, sat on opposite ends on the sofa with a packet of out of date microwave popcorn Carl found, this is a war of attrition and Negan has him on the back foot. 

Silence has never been something that unnerved Carl, silence always felt like safety, a refuge from grunts and growls, or fighting and sprays of bullets but Negan has an uncanny ability to taint most good things. The silence now feels heavy and encroaching, Negan is watching him like he’s one hell of an interesting nature documentary as he cracks loudly through a kernel and Carl fights hard against the desire to explain himself, to fill the void with stuttering monologues. 

It’s just what he wants. 

“Damn you look  _ pissed.  _ You barely spoke a word over dinner _ ”  _ Negan grins softly. “Did I hurt your fingers or your pride?” 

“Shut up” Carl mutters, shaking his head at the childishness of it all. Biting against the thousands of words at the tip of his tongue and thrum of his heartbeat. 

“Must’ve been your fingers. Your pride’s untouchable. Very evidently, You took all your Da’s and then some-” 

“You put him in this position!” Carl shouts, ignoring how Negan’s grin deepens, how his own voice trembles and gives out to a breathless scratch at the end. 

Negan leans forward, shifting his weight to rest his hands, laced, on his thighs, like they are about to have some heart to heart. 

“But did I  _ really?  _ As my memory serves...Ya kinda brought this on yourselves” Negan pushes his shoulder, jovial and intimate. “And in response? Your Dad - enraged - hopped into a truck, mowed down my men and made to take his  _ sweet  _ revenge-” 

A beat, punctuated only by Carl’s shuddering breath. 

“Oh  _ wait _ !” Negan taps his own forehead, dropping his arm around Carl’s shoulders. “That was you!” 

“I’m not mad,” Negan continues. “You  _ know _ I’m not mad at you but when I wanna comment on the ballsiness of the Grimes family?” 

Carl braces palms against the sofa. 

“Forgive me for putting the one-eyed, son of bitch who  _ asked  _ to get his arm cut off over your babbling Daddy and  _ that’s _ a compliment, Carl!” 

He breathes hard through his nose, head pounding at the dissonance of it all. He agrees, on some level and he is angry at Rick’s subservience but it’s bigger than that and Negan has no right to bring it up. He doesn’t say that, he doesn’t have it in him to say it and it’s not fear that stops him, just exhaustion. 

“Holy hell Kid. You’re practically vibrating over here” Negan laughs before the smile slides off his face like ice-cream in the summer sun. “Listen, I didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers so much” 

“Yes you did” Carl says, eyes fluttering as he bites on his bottom lip. 

Negan watches him carefully, cautious. 

“Yeah” He drawls. “Okay, I did” 

“This-” Carl begins, slow and soft. “This whole thing is like that right?” 

Negan’s eyes narrow. 

“Just admit you do it to piss off Rick” Carl pleads. “Coming over here - valuing me - all this shit- Wh-whatever happened in the kitchen-” He cuts himself off to take a ragged breath. “I am  _ not _ afraid of you” he insists, anticipatory and genuine. 

Negan’s jaw works slowly, eyes never leaving Carl’s even if they aren’t meeting. 

“Yeah I’m getting that” He says slowly, like he’s ticking the words over in his head. “I think it’s  _ way _ worse than that, Carl Grimes”    
  


His eye slides to meet Negan’s, head low, shoulders hunched. He lets himself, for just a moment, feel as vulnerable as he is. Negan’s face is unreadable but all traces of humour seem gone. 

“Truth be told, Carl” The L rolls off his tongue like a curse. “I don’t know why I come either. This lil’ homestead wants me dead, You got damn well close to succeeding - kudos to you- and you’re never gracious about my presence.  _ Nothing _ should make me interested in you” 

Negan’s gaze is hard now, looking away feels impossible and Carl feels trapped like a deer in headlights, unable to avoid his fate. 

“But interested I am,” Negan whispers. “Because you’re stronger than anyone I’ve met out here and it scares the hell out of me and  _ nobody _ wants to be at odds with shit that scares them. I like you, Carl. I don’t wanna have to fucking club your head in and I’ve done the stick, so I gotta try the carrot” 

His face lights up as his jaw drops. 

“Holy  _ fuck _ . I actualised that metaphor and I  _ didn’t even mean to _ !” Negan whistles. “You gotta give me credit, Carl” 

He’s shaking. This close he can smell Negan, sweat and leather and wire and wood, intoxicating and heavy and all consuming. He’s here and real, fallible and human, not the god that destroyed the image of his Father in front of his eyes or the myth whispered amongst scared scavengers. 

After everything he’s been through, how can this be his downfall? After losing his Dad, then the world, then his Mom too, his sight. How can one man, one man and his stupid goddamn smirk make him feel so weak. 

“Now, I can see this is a lot to process. You’re looking kinda blank eyed here-” 

“I feel the same” He mumbles and Negan startles just a little. “I’m not scared of you…’m scared of me. You shouldn’t interest me. I shouldn’t have wanted to see you - I -” 

He shakes his head. This is wrong. So wrong. Negan is killer and a blight, a personality rather than a person and there is nothing to desire or get attached to. He’s a virus, he attaches into your head, lets you build him into your saviour or your demon until all he is is the man you imagined. 

“Slow down,” Negan says, hand on his back and Carl flinches hard at the circle drawn into the flannel. A strangled gasp leaves his throat before he can help it and Negan pulls his hand back slowly. Watching the response, eyes catching Carl’s. 

“I think I see,” Negan says, slow and humourless. “What you’re so afraid of your Daddy findin’ out” 

Breathing is impossible, Carl just stares, desperate not to hear the words. 

“And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered it too, because you’re a beautiful lil’ thing” 

The air is tense now, between both of them, Carl’s terror and Negan’s moral caution. The hesitation makes Carl feel hot, flushed in a way that unnerves him. The fact that Negan would care to stop makes him spiral more than it should. 

Would it be easier? He asks himself, if Negan had called him beautiful and just taken him. His body shudders, memories of hands on him and desperate cries from his own throat, a road a lifetime ago that makes this seem like paradise. 

“I’ve been through too much,” He says, hoarse and bitter. “To even consider this an issue” 

Negan’s eyes narrow. 

“And yet it is one” 

“Because it’s of political importance!” Carl bites. “Because I’m a fucking pawn in the game you’re playing with my  _ Dad _ and I couldn’t - I couldn’t do that to him. Not now, not after everything-” 

“So take him out the equation, Carl,” Negan says. “Think for a moment about what you really wanna do. If the answer is kill me, fine, so be it but something tells me that’s not what you want at all” 

“This is -” Carl snarls but Negan cuts him off. 

“I don’t fuck around with desire” He says, low and dangerous. “So you tell me what you want,  _ exactly,  _ or I will up and leave-” 

“And then what?” Carl snaps, challenging. Chin tilted up and jaw set. Itching for anything to take the heat off him. 

Negan’s brow lifts incredulously and he takes a slow breath as he leans down to pluck a stray strand of hair out of Carl’s eye and curl it around his ear, lips following the motion. 

“I’ll let you be. I’ll go right now and this can be the end of our little charade. Your Daddy will be none the wiser, no chips, no leverage... but Carl, I won’t make you dinner, I won’t keep you safe and I won’t keep you close. This so-called  _ ‘game’ _ of ours - which by the way - most people call friendship? That ends. I’ll make this professional because you’re just a kid and I dun’ even know if  _ you _ know what you’re asking for but I’m just as done as you are with whatever this is, Carl” 

Breath stuttering and words ringing in his ears Carl sits, blue eye alert and body tense. 

A moment passes and then another. Negan watches him with an eerie amount of patience. Carl swallows, gaze falling to the floor, squeezing shut. 

Negan sighs, whether in disappointment or victory, Carl’s unsure. He stands, throwing on the leather jacket, fingers skirting along the breakfast bar to pick up Lucille. 

A pregnant pause, suddenly less intentional and much more awkward hangs between them before Negan smiles and rubs his eyes. 

“I’ll see you around, Kid” 

It’s then that it clicks, that he realises he can’t do this anymore and that for the first time in his life he actually  _ wants  _ something. He won’t live long, it’s impossible in this world. Nothing lasts. Negan’s living proof. Fighting this, on top of everything else, is something he  _ can’t _ do. 

The morals, the objections, they filter away with every step Negan takes. Desire - to be wanted, treasured, even if it  _ is  _ a game - is a precious commodity and Carl can’t let it go. It’s probably his only chance and, fuck it, he can trust Negan to take care of him, that’s the part that scares him most. 

He stands, grabbing the knife, as though he can force his body through one last ultimatum. 

“Negan” He says, a prayer and a curse. 

It takes three strides to catch up to him and he turns at his name, eyes finding Carl’s before they think to look down at the hand moving forward. The blade catches the light. There is a glint of panic, hidden behind admiration as they come together. Negan’s free hand catches Carl’s wrist, holding the blade an inch away from his stomach as Lucille catches under his chin, wire cutting into his jaw. 

“Fuck” Negan whispers, breath hushed against his lips, brushing his stubble against Carl’s cheek. “You’re really something else” 

The compliment punches breath out of him, breaks the will he had just seconds ago. 

He lurches forward, pushing up onto the balls of his feet to catch the lapel of Negan’s jacket with his free hand and shrinks the distance between them. Negan let’s him, grinning against the desperate push of Carl’s lips. It’s fear, pounding in his guts, mixed with something else, that makes Carl fight for a reaction. Kisses dropped desperately against Negan’s lips as he still finds himself flinching at every movement from the bat still pushing against his jaw. 

“I wanna” Negan says, as they part. His eyes have fallen half shut and he takes a pained breath in. “But we gotta have some trust here, Kid” 

Carl swallows, unsure and flushed. His head feels light, thoughts drifting in a painfully good way. 

“You’re not gonna kill me?” Carl whispers, finding their lips brushing again, easy and seductive. His legs tremble, grip having to tighten on the leather. 

Negan let’s out an incredulous laugh. 

“You’re the one who just tried to  _ stab  _ me, Carl” 

He meets Negan’s eyes, mirth filled and dangerous, and sets his jaw. Not breaking eye contact he lets the blade drop to the floor, standing his ground as Negan twitches an eyebrow, smirk pulling his lip down. 

“There,” He says, defiant if not a little choked. 

Negan moves slowly, calculated, as he drops the bat from Carl’s face and leans it against the wall. He looks back once, eyes raking over Carl before he moves forward, so fast it almost makes Carl tense. 

His hands find Carl’s face, one sliding into his hair and the other cupping his jaw. Thumb brushing the soft skin just under his bandage. Carl struggles to follow the movement or make sense of it, fighting against a sea of sensation he’s never felt before. Negan’s gaze has gone soft, like he’s appreciating some fine work of art. It makes Carl swallow, makes him feel dozy and fuzzy. Altogether nothing like himself. 

Negan takes control of the kiss. Tilting Carl’s jaw until he likes the angle before bringing their lips together. Maybe it’s his own lack of experience, or Negan’s prowess, or a horrible mixture of the two but Carl understands now just why he has so many wives. It’s possessive and invading and completely overwhelming. The type of over-wrought sensory overload Carl’s only ever felt when he’s in danger put to such good use he feels like his hands might break through the plaster of the wall from how hard he clenches them. 

It’s like he knows what Carl wants before Carl even thinks of it. His hand rubs circles on a spot behind his ear that makes a moan tumble into Negan’s throat as his tongue swirls softly against Carl’s. 

It’s not just arousal Carl feels, it’s so much more. As though his whole body is alight from Negan’s touch, responsive in a way he never thought he’d get to experience. 

Negan understands emotion. He knows how to use it, Carl knows. He knows this is just as important as the violence but it’s so much more addictive, compliments it so well. He knows by morning he’ll feel all sorts of self-loathing but it isn’t morning and he’s never felt so fucking  _ alive _ before. 

Negan pulls away, shaking his head ever so slightly as nuzzles Carl’s jaw. The hand in his hair twirls around the bandage wrappings before gently tugging it off. Pushing back the hair, scratching calloused fingers across his scalp in a way that makes Carl’s jaw drop. 

He smiles, genuine and unreadable as he looks over Carl once more. The air is cold against the sensitive skin, making him feel painfully naked. His heart must be loud enough for Negan to hear. 

He wraps his arms around Negan’s neck, shuddering as Negan’s fall around his waist as they kiss again. It feels equally desperate, like Negan truly desires him and he finds himself revelling in the fantasy of it. He pulls back to drop a kiss at the side of Carl’s mouth, his jaw bone, the shell of his ear as Carl let’s out a breathy moan, fingers kneading at the leather. 

Negan’s thumb drags softly across the scar tissue under his eye, inflamed and barely healed and Carl flinches, a warning in his other eye. Negan ignores him, leaning forward to drop a kiss at the juncture of his nose and open wound, pausing and dropping another just where his eye lash line would be. Carl's breath shudders out his chest, rattles in his mouth. He stays still, like he’s hiding, like any form of noise will give him away. Negan’s kisses are soft, dry, his hands brush his jaw, hold his head in place. They catch Carl’s tears. 

He doesn’t sob, he doesn’t even push Negan off. He just let’s them collect in the cupped palm of Negan’s hand as they slip out his eyes in time with Negan’s kisses. 

It’s an overwhelming carthasism, he finds himself shuddering, silent but broken nonetheless. Negan grimaces, dropping one last kiss to his forehead. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Kid” 

Carl laughs, sniffing softly. 

“Sure” he says, bitter and cynical. 

Negan wipes his tears away, other hand resting on his hip as he surveys the damage. 

“This sucks, huh?” He smiles. “You’ve really been through it. I’m surprised you don’t cry more often” 

Carl cries more than he should, he thinks. Alone in bed, once he knows his Dad can’t see, he’ll shudder and sob and curse how unfair everything is. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone to do it in the day. Nobody needs to see that side of him. 

“You just bottle it all up for you dad huh?” Negan whispers. “That ain’t healthy kid” 

Carl just smiles weakly. 

“He can’t” he swallows. “I can’t -” 

“Can’t what?” Negan asks, cupping his cheek. “Talk to you?” 

“Me not being okay?” He says. “Is the last thing he needs right now” 

Negan’s brow knit. 

“So you’re not” Negan kisses him again, as though he can’t quite help himself, dragging his lips over Carl’s. “Okay?”    
  


Carl’s hands move, touch feather light and curious over Negan’s face, into his hair, trailing his hands over tan skin, sliding down cautiously under the leather, trailing his hands over the soft cotton of his T-shirt. Feeling the ribs, the muscle, his own breath stutters at the feeling, like petting a dog that might bite. 

“No,” he says. “But who the fuck is?” 

“Ohoh” Negan grins. “Yeah, okay. Lemme take you to bed, Carl Grimes. We can work on that attitude” 

  
  
  


The house is empty. His Dad’s bed is clean, mostly unslept in as of late and so it feels just a little less egregious when he pins Negan to it. 

“Sure you know what you’re doing there, Kid?” 

He doesn’t. 

But allowing Negan the full upper hand is something he can’t quite bear. Negan’s watching him, his wrist rolling gently in Carl’s grip as his stomach arches into his hips. He swallows and in some desperate attempt to even the playing field he pulls off his shirt. 

Negan’s eyes darken but his hands stay by his head, gaze strong enough to make Carl feel flushed. 

“Damn” he whispers. “You look like virgin snow on christmas” 

He flicks his hair out his face, feeling it tickle at his shoulders. The whole thing makes him feel coy, effeminate. Negan’s gaze and his own pale skin set him aflame with a desire to be as delicate as he actually looks. 

Negan’s hands smooth up his thighs, bracketing his ribs, whistling at how his hands fully encircle Carl’s waist before trailing up and over his shoulders. 

“You look fucking otherwordly, you know that?” Negan whispers, shimmying himself down to lay a kiss on Carl’s trembling stomach, holding him up with his hands alone. 

He wouldn’t know, although Negan is an authority on pretty things. He spends an awful long time collecting them. The idea that he could be one, that he fit into that category was enough to make Carl fucking swoon. 

“Take this off” he says, hooking his fingers into Carl’s belt. 

Carl obliges, sitting up so Negan’s grinning face is just under him, his hands smoothing patterns up his back that make him gasp. He can’t remember the last time he was fully naked for any reason other than washing - and there was a time where even that was a challenge - and it sends an almost insatiable thrill through him. 

This is what safety feels like, he realises dimly, locked away with a window unbarred, moonlight on his bare skin. He’s never had this once in his life, a pleasure this simple. He rolls his shoulders, leaning into Negan’s touch, earning a soft moan in response from him. He tilts his head back, let’s Negan’s hands trail up and over his neck, grip loose and reverent. 

He looks down. Negan looks up. 

Their gazes lock, Negan’s hand still loose around Carl’s throat as he drops a soft kiss to the inside of his thigh. His cock jumps in response, breath catching in his throat, pushing against Negan’s hand. 

“Lie down, Carl” It’s not a command but it’s not a request either. The tone is impossible, soft like he just  _ gets it  _ but not condescending or pitying. Carl bites back tears at how stupidly perfect it feels. 

He does lie down, head tilted and hand curled by his head like he imagines a beautiful dame might do. Not a one-eyed teen covered in scars, body forced to lean out much too early, like adulthood pulls against boyishness in a battle neither are winning. 

Negan just clicks his jaw and looks over him, pulling him by his hips to lift his leg over his shoulder. 

“Get on with it-” Carl tries, stuttering as Negan drags his teeth across the balls off his feet. 

“Yeah” Negan chuffs a soft breath. “You don’t want that.  _ I  _ don’t do that” 

Carl let’s his chest expand, hands curling against the sheets in a desperate attempt to hold back from grabbing Negan. In the dark the tan of his skin makes Carl look effervescent, the tattoos move like shadows with every twist of sinew on the older man, his hand fitting full circle around Carl’s ankle. 

“You’re a fucking wonder. I take my time on precious things like you” He kisses his calf, teeth catching the back of his knee as he pulls him closer, hips on his lap, body splayed on the linen. 

Carl squeezes his eye shut at the sensation. Whatever his hands don’t get at, his tongue does, until Carl breathlessly jumps at every kiss, lick and caress, eye blown wide and cheek wet with drool. 

“What happened here?” Negan asks, dragging palms across the juncture of his hips and pelvis and ignoring how Carl’s body begs for relief, grinding barely against the plane’s of stomach. 

It takes Carl a moment to realise he’s been spoken to but he sits up to look before falling back. 

“I was shot” He murmurs, easy and soft. Negan trails rough pads across the messy scar. 

“Did you sow it up yourself?” He kisses it, trailing his tongue along the line of the white and Carl moans, hand grabbing Negan’s hair tight. 

“Sensitive” Negan whispers, tugging the skin softly between his teeth. Carl cries out, legs buckling. 

“I-I didn’t...I…” Carl whispers. “I can barely remember it…” 

He can feel Negan’s sympathy in the way his hands go to his shoulders, securing, grounding. The intimacy he offers is just as dangerous as the pleasure, Carl tries to remind himself. 

“What do you want out of this kid?” He says suddenly, lying down and pulling Carl close, dropping dozy kisses across his cheeks and nose before he tightens his grip, nosing to his ear. “Want me to suck you dry? Fuck you to till you cry? What?” 

Carl trembles, feeling Negan’s grin as his clothed thigh slides between Carl’s legs. 

“You’re- You’re the-the one w-who w-wants this” Carl manages as Negan mouths over his lips in a ghost of a kiss. 

“No, Carl,” He says. “I’m the one who knows what he’s doing.  _ You  _ started this. Don’t think you’re on the back foot here kid” 

Negan shifts, guiding Carl’s hand over the outline of his cock, watching as Carl chokes back a gasp. 

“Because you play this innocent virgin thing oscar-worthily-” 

“It’s not an act-” 

Negan’s gaze silences him. He swallows as the atmosphere shifts. Negan’s breath is heavy against his lips, like he’s struggling to hold back. 

“And you’ve successfully drivin me wild. I’m whipped, baby boy. I’ll suck your cock all fucking night and ask for nothing in return just to watch they way your goddamn eyes roll back. I’m a simple fucking man, I like making people feel. Especially ones like you, who like to pretend the concept is so fuckin’ forgein. ‘Cos i don’t wanna blow your mind but we ain’t got much left out here. Pain, You know that world. I don’t doubt it you little bad-ass. I wanna show you the other side, I wanna show you fuckin’ everything but there is this little voice in my head that thinks; This kid is smart” 

They’re both grinding now, Negan’s voice is rough and heavy and Carl’s whines merge against the words. 

“I meant it when I said you’d be the death of me. Hell, who knows, maybe in the morning you tell your Daddy all this and the bastard springs me next time I’m balls deep inside you and Carl, there  _ will  _ be a next time” 

Carl cries out, soft and broken, hips stuttering as he gets closer, chasing release with the growl in his ear. Negan pulls back. 

  
“Don’t you  _ dare _ cum yet, I’m not finished talking. You talk about how you ain’t got no reason to trust me, well kid, your dad killed a bunch of my men in their sleep. Forgive me for feeling just a little uneasy about fucking his _ son”  _

They look over each other, Negan’s thumb stroking his swollen bottom lip. 

“Ah yeah. You hate how much you get that don’t you?” Negan grins. “You hate that I’m right” 

Carl’s chest depresses, his breath forced out as he stares helplessly. The hate burns in his stomach, twitches against his hands but it’s not hatred for Negan, god fucking damn it. It’s just hatred, maybe it’s been there for years, ignited by Negan’s ability to get right under your skin. 

“Fuck you” He hisses, fist landing on Negan’s chest with no real force. Negan catches his chin, white teeth catching the moonlight before their lips come together in a desperate clash. 

Negan's grip is tighter in his hair, other hand on the small of his back, kissing the breath out his lungs, biting at his lip, revelling in the clink of their teeth. Carl moans, Leg over Negan’s hips as he tries to keep up. 

“So goddamn fucking perfect” Negan growls, biting his earlobe. 

Carl hand finds his chest shakily, pushing him back to kneel. Negan watches him with curious amusement as his hands fumble with his belt. He sits up, letting Carl shuck his jeans down before Carl’s gaze falls to his cock. The kid moves like someone possessed, head falling low enough to nuzzle against it like an addict. 

“Fuck” Negan whispers, eyes fluttering. 

Carl just sighs. The heat, the smell; heady and overwhelming, it makes him dizzy. Negan seems to notice, hauling him up by the hair to give him another desperate kiss. 

“Please” Carl sobs. “Please” 

Negan nods, uncharacteristically demure, holding Carl’s hips as he rakes through a drawer to pull out a tub of vaseline. 

Negan’s gaze goes predator again. 

“I need to sweep your house better. Can’t bare the idea of you daddy having this much fun alone-” 

“Stop” Carl snaps and to his surprise Negan does. He plucks it carefully out Carl’s hands. Kissing his knuckles as he does it. 

“Turn over, hips up” Negan says, kissing down Carl’s side as he moves to sit up, tactile and hot. 

Carl hesitates, swallowing against the fear of not watching exactly what Negan’s doing. 

“Seriously” Negan sighs. “If I was gonna hurt you kid, I would’ve” 

He nods, blinking and turning over, head buried in the pillow. The desire wins out, like fear always does too. His body seemingly hardwired desperate. 

Negan smooths his hands down Carl’s back. 

“Relax” He murmurs before chuckling warmly. “I mean it, Carl. I think you really fucking need to” 

He kisses the small of his back, gentle and soft. 

Negan’s fingers are thick and warm, slick and experienced and Carl let’s out a punched out moan at just how good he can make this feel. Negan doesn’t just stretch him, Doesn’t treat this as a means to an end, fingering Carl open till he begs like a bitch in heat is an end in itself. Like he takes true joy in learning what makes Carl gasp or cringe. He’s open and gasping, thighs trembling by the end as he coughs on his own broken gasps of the other man’s name. 

Negan pulls back, dropping dewy kisses along his spine and up to his ear, chest pressing warm against Carl. 

“This’ll hurt” He warns and the words send an insidious rush through Carl. He just nods, sweat soaked bangs curling around his forehead as he squeezes his toes. 

Negan’s hand finds the back off his, lacing their fingers together as he fucks into Carl with the reserved strength that makes him fucking terrifying to begin with. 

Carl Grimes knows pain. He knows all facets of it, the shock of hearing about his dad - catatonic and broken - the fear of the world ending just moments later, the vague and fuzzy memory of that bullet slicing through him. The pain of killing Mom, the agony when his eye was shot out. 

Negan knows pain too, he knows just how to push it out of people, knows just where to press, physically and emotionally. He could make this painful. He would know how. 

But he doesn’t and maybe the knowledge, or maybe the catharsis of feeling something so intense and safe and intimate in amongst years of fear and death and uncertainty, is what makes it feel so fucking painless to Carl. 

His back arches, legs tensing, a noise he didn’t know he was capable of making torn from his throat as his head tips back, free hand grabbing the head board as Negan kissing into the dip of his collar. 

“God…” he breathes, taking shuddering deep breaths. The feeling is inescapable and makes his legs bounce, as though he’s fuller than he should be, like his body is about to give out on him, like he can taste Negan in his throat. 

It makes him insatiable. 

Negan doesn’t say anything, even if Carl wishes he would, anything to take the edge off just how mind-blowing this is. 

“You’re fucking tight” Negan growls finally, thrusts shallow and restrained as he bites and sucks on the expanse of Carl’s back. 

Carl’s body quakes, hips pushing back to meet Negan’s with what feels for a moment like control. That is until Negan pulls back and fucks into him hard, pace even but unrelenting, both hands on his hips. 

Carl almost screams, biting his own wrist to stifle the noise. Negan fucks him like he owns him, like every thrust goes straight to his head, makes it buzz and ring with a desire that didn’t even feel possible until minutes ago. 

He’s babbling, he knows it, sobbing into the pillow under him. Faster, more, please, Negan, the words aren’t coherent. A hand threads through his hair, tugging gently, slicing pinpoints of pleasure against the lance going straight through him. 

“This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me” He sobs, barely aware he’s saying the words, slipping straight from his unconscious to Negan like the man controls him. 

Negan’s thrusts still for a moment, grip lightening on his hair. 

“Shit kid” He whispers. 

Carl can’t understand the tone, he can’t understand anything right now. The world focuses to the point their bodies meet. He’s mindless and it’s bliss. 

He fucks deeper, longer and slower, like he’s determined to make sure Carl feels this forever. 

“Damnit Kid” He snarls. “You’re too fucking good at this” 

His hand slides round to take Carl’s cock, whistling at how hard he still is. His thrusts are wilder now, harder to meet. Carl finds himself prone, hips forced into the bed, lifted enough that Negan can stroke him. 

The lack of awareness is addictive, he’s barely sure if his eyes are open, his body sings to Negan’s command, trembling harder and harder until all his muscles are tense, right on the edge of climax. He pushes into him again, harder and just right, pushing him so far over the edge Negan has to cover his mouth, tilting his head back as he fucks him through the aftershocks. 

“Shh, shh” Negan says as Carl falls limply to the bed. “Christ kid, you’re gonna bring the whole neighbourhood here” 

He pulls out of him and Carl groans at how slick his thighs feel. He tries to sit up, survey the damage but his legs buckle on him. 

“Did you?…” Carl murmurs as Negan brushes hair out his face. 

“Kid, nobody would have lasted through that little show you put on” Negan snorts before lying back, pulling Carl onto his chest. 

A silence passes between them. Whether they’re both coming to terms with what they’ve done or whether Negan’s just being gentlemanly about it, Carl’s unsure but sleep pulls at him, warm and invited, impossible to fight. 

“Uhm” Carl clears his throat. “Thanks? I guess…” 

Negan kisses his forehead, chuffing out another laugh. 

“My pleasure, Grimes” 

Carl feels numb, unsure and painfully young. 

“When will _ Rick  _ be home?” Negan asks, like the man is a joke in himself. 

“I dunno,” Carl answers. “Tomorrow, late, probably” 

Negan stretches, squeezing Carl closer. He realises, painfully, this is the most intimate he’s ever been with anyone as he drops his head to Negan's chest, pressing himself closer to the warmth. 

“Well then, I’m gonna go to fucking sleep” He sighs. “Promise me i’ll wake up in the morning huh?” 

Carl swallows, something close to guilt tickling at his conscience. 

“Yeah, i can promise that” 

By the morning he’ll shake this off; this desperate, clawing desire to feel Negan’s love and attention. He’ll put his hat on and bandage his eye and forget this ever happened. 

But for now, in the dead of night, warm and safe for the first time; He can’t bring himself to hate Negan anymore. 

  
  



End file.
